


Gross.

by Kyzer



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Anal Sex, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Hate Wank, Humour, Im unholy, M/M, Masturbation, Power Hungry Tord, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Fantasy that's also humourous because Tord can't wank seriously, Silly, Starts pretty non-con, Tom takes it up the ass, Tord's really good at pretending feelings don't exist, but then Tord seeks God, like how I should but i dont, thats right it's another wanking fic, this is just rly silly tbh, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyzer/pseuds/Kyzer
Summary: The End never happened but Tord did come back and was forced to share a room with Tom. Tord thinks Tom's hot when they're fighting. Tom just wants to sleep.





	Gross.

**Author's Note:**

> written by some guy who's sick of OOC TomTord tbh. Actually not sure if this is more in-character. I'll let you guys decide. It was also written at 2AM on a work day. Unbeta'd and there's LOTS of rambling. The actual porn is pretty vanilla, I'm sorry to disappoint.
> 
> I abuse the italics a lot honestly.

Tord wasn’t sure why the thought even appeared in his head. Maybe it was the excessive amounts of hentai he’d been consuming. He really needed to get rid of that nasty habit of wanking his dick raw every time he got bored.

Speaking of which.

His eyes slid over from the bright alarm clock’s lights, flashing ‘2:05AM’ at him, towards the other inhabitant of his room. Tom laid curled on one side, his back facing Tord as per usual. His shoulders rose and fell rhythmically as he took deep, calming breaths in his sleep. Tord blamed his own sleeplessness on the time zone difference between England and Norway, but he knew better. He should probably explain why he was sharing a room with his self-proclaimed nemesis first though.

A few weeks back he had come back to his old home that he shared with his good friend Edd, and with Edd’s good friends Matt (who was actually quite tolerable as long as he kept his mouth shut) and Tom. The latter had moved into Tord’s old room, as the eyeless man’s previous one was turned into a makeshift swimming pool that none of them even used. Tom did try convincing Tord that he could just sleep in the newly built attic that was turned into a giant store room, but all that gained was a sarcastic remark from Tord that Tom should just sleep six feet underground.

Predictably, it ended with bruises and blood from both parties, and Edd, exasperated, had told them both that they should share a room together and learn to “put aside their differences,” otherwise they could _both_ move out and have Edd turn the bedroom into a Cola storage. Thus, another bed was crammed into the already small space of previously-Tord’s-but-then-it-became-Tom’s-but-now-it’s-also-Tord’s-again room.

Living with Tom proved to not be as much of a hassle as he had thought. Initially, it’d been a lot of bickering, especially when it came to the topic of space and who was allowed to go where and such. In the end Edd had to cut in between the both of them and furiously drag a long line of bright yellow duct tape across the room. One was Tom’s side, and the other Tord’s. They did try to argue, but one piercing glare from the mutual friend was enough to get the both of them to begrudgingly agree. Now it was mostly filled with silence. Tom had learned that Tord would simply leave him alone out of boredom if Tom stopped responding to Tord’s remarks. Now Tord had stopped trying.

Oh yes, what a mess. He almost forgot what he was talking about several moments ago. Now that the backstory was out of the way and Tord was done reminiscing on why he was even in this situation in the first place, his mind wandered back to his original concern.

Tom was… Aggressive. This wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone if anyone knew him, and Tord definitely knew him. He never had this problem before he left the house for several years, so he had to wonder what sparked this. What’s ‘this’ you ask? Well.

Tord really, _really_ liked the idea of dominating Thomas.

Usually, this was through physical fights. And he’d had no issues regarding this at all. To have such an aggressive and feisty man be under your control would make any power-hungry son of a bitch feel absolutely _alive_. But lately Tord had been thinking that he’d prefer Tom to be under him for slightly different reasons.

It wasn’t that big of a deal before; usually he’d just wring his hands and suddenly have a vivid image of Tom’s neck trapped under his fingers as the brunet laid beneath Tord’s mercy, gasping for air and pawing uselessly at the hand on his throat. It made Tord giggle. Now it just made Tord hard. It definitely didn’t help that Tom had such a pretty neck. Something so fair could totally bruise easily. Speaking of things that could bruise easily, Tom had quite fair wrists too. The guy was lanky, and basically a goddamn stick all ‘round. Tord did wonder how Tom was so strong despite being made out of skin, bones, and alcohol, but he wasn’t complaining. The fact that Tom was a strong opponent made it all the more thrilling whenever Tord managed to get him pinned down. Fighting back, but with no use. Flailing. Helpless.

_Sexy._

Tord’d stopped trying to resist the thoughts days ago, admittedly. He was confused, but he didn’t really mind the thought of getting off to holding power against someone like Tom. Served the guy right. You know what they say, if you can’t beat them, beat your dick.

Except Tord did beat Tom. Multiple times. And he would continue to beat Tom _as_ he beat his dick. Never was Tord not greedy, after all.

Grinning maliciously, Tord felt the familiar tightness in his pants and he wormed his hand under the waistband, eyes never leaving the still sleeping figure across from him. In Tord’s imagination, Tom’s deep breathing wasn’t from sleep, and it was instead from fatigue. It would be right after a physical fight. Probably about something stupid as usual. Tord would’ve been victorious, and it would be evident to Tom, but the blue-clad man would just refuse to give up; even as he was pinned under Tord’s weight.

The Norwegian would be straddling Tom, rendering the guy’s kicks from under him to be useless, as it wouldn’t connect with anything. Still, Tom fought. And not long after, Tord would have to teach him a lesson. That he’d _never_ win. That Tord would _always_ come out of their silly fights a victor.

Tord had to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning too widely, his eyes fluttering shut to aid with his mental vision as his hand continued to tease himself under the covers. Toes curling, the mental movie continued.

Once Tord was done with Tom’s struggling, Tord would lean forwards and push a hand to Tom’s throat, cutting off the airway enough to leave Tom in a state of panic, his legs kicking with more vigour and the fingers clawing at Tord’s offending hand would leave dark red scratch marks. Probably even deep enough to draw blood. Even as Tom’s vision tunnelled, he won’t give up. Still, his empty eye sockets would burn with fury. And it would be _riveting_ to see.

Soon, tears would start pricking at the corners of Tom’s eyes and his legs would have calmed down as he slowly lost his grip on consciousness. Tord would let go slightly, just enough for Tom to suck in a large breath, shuddering. Tord’s responding chuckle would earn himself a glare, but Tom would say nothing as he’d be busy with trying to regain oxygen.

“Tom,” Tord would coo condescendingly, as if speaking to a petulant child. “You know your condition would improve if you just let go for once and let me win like I always do. Why do you fight, still?”

Tom, being the asshole that he was, would simply reply with a, “Fuck you.” How creative.

Tord would grip at the throat again and this time lift Tom up slightly by the neck before slamming him down. He’d earn a delicious choked off groan, and Tom would go back to trying to pry Tord’s hand off of his throat futilely.

As Tom’s mouth hung open in an attempt to receive oxygen, Tord would plug the mouth with his free hand, shoving in two fingers into it to trigger Tom’s gag reflex. The hand on Tom’s throat would loosen as Tom choked on the intrusion, face scrunching up as saliva pooled in his mouth and slicked Tord’s fingers up. Tom would be thoroughly confused at this point. Of course, though, he’d react violently by clamping his teeth down onto Tord’s fingers. Tord hissed before pulling the fingers out, and Tom would cough as he tried to double over from the uncomfortable pain in his throat and lungs.

“What the fuck you disgusting piece of shit?!” Tom would yell in between wheezing, and Tord would have other plans for him.

“What, would you prefer if I plugged a different hole?”

Tord was momentarily pulled out of his fantasy by his own snort of amusement. Who’d even say that in real life? What a joke. Once the threat of laughter passed, he resumed; with the aid of the delightful sensations of his hand running against his cock, the mood was back.

The only words appropriate to describe Tom’s expression would be ‘What in the ever-loving fuck,’ and he’d be frozen in shock as he tried to figure out what the Norski had said. Tord’s response would be a simple raise of his eyebrows as his grin spread wider, and his eyelids drooped lower. As the implications hit him, Tom would begin flailing again, kick—

A groan from across the room would cause Tord to snap his eyes open to make sure Tom wasn’t awake. Not like he could do anything about his roommate jacking off, but it’d be at least a little weird. Thankfully, Tom had simply stirred in his sleep and was now facing Tord. The calm sleeping face of the brunet made Tord consider something.

He’d had that sort of fantasy for weeks. Maybe he should change it up a little. Sure, having Tom fight against every action helplessly was great, but Tord was a man of variety. What if Tord managed to get Tom’s consent? Hah! He’d be so good that Tom wouldn’t even be able to lie to himself. Excitedly, Tord shut his eyes to immerse himself in a completely new scene.

“Tord…” Tom’s usual commanding tone would be brought down to a mere whimper, desperation evident in his voice. His wrists would be bruised from the binds holding them against the headboard. Flustered, sweaty Thomas laid out just for him, squirming in an attempt to give his neglected cock some sort of relief. But Tord was a patient man.

“Come on, Thomas,” He’d sing-song the full name as he teasingly massaged Tom’s upper thighs, getting dangerously close, but not quite, to his crotch. Tom would lean into the touch, but every time he did, Tord would pull away and he’d get an annoyed huff. “You know that if you want something you have to ask properly.”

“But I did!”

“No, you just said please. What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, or are you more stupid than I thought?”

The snarky remark would cause Tom to receive a resounding slap across the face and he’d gasp from the force before he was yanked by the chin to face Tord’s now stormy expression. “I’ve been patient with you, Thomas. Do you really want to play this game?”

Part of Tom would totally want to. But he’d simply swallow thickly and stayed quiet. After a few moments, Tord would scoff before tossing Tom’s head back onto the pillow. “Fine. I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so fucking greedy.”

Tord would pick up the half-empty bottle of lube and lathered his hands before, without much else of a warning, shoving them into Tom’s already slick hole from hours of stretching. Tom’s back would curve at the sensation of Tord not wasting any time in attacking Tom’s prostate. Shivering, he’d endure the nervous assault for a few more moments before the fingers were replaced by something much thicker. It’d slide in without much complications, and the man under Tord would let out a high-pitched whine that would get momentarily cut off at times, from Tom’s attempt at regaining whatever that was left of his dignity.

Tord wasted no time, sick of teasing himself already and set a gruesome pace as his hands roamed whatever in their path. The man, all of him, was Tord’s to touch. To explore. It was all his. The thought made Tord rake his nails down Tom’s abdomen, and the sounds the latter made would increase in volume and desperation. Tom would be close already from the hours of torture and before long, he tensed before reaching his orgasm that’d last forever. Even as Tom peaked though, Tord wouldn’t stop pounding into him.

After a beat or two, Tom caught on with what was happening and he’d protest against the over-stimulation, though admittedly a bit weakly.

“T-Tord, fuck—don’t—Can’t you, stop for a mom—“ He’d cut himself off with a loud cry as his prostate was repeatedly struck. Tord would ignore the pleas, and even the attempts at breaking free from the binds that tied Tom’s wrists together.

“What, wasn’t this what you wanted?” Tord would still manage to tease the other, despite he himself being flustered and beginning to lose his own composure as the heat in his lower abdomen would increase in intensity.

Tom would whine at the continuous onslaught of sensations and would be too preoccupied with that to even come up with a proper response. As it went on, Tom’s voice would keep going higher and higher and higher until the only way Tom could maintain his masculinity was if he began screaming properly. “Tord!” He’d say in between yelling, “Tord, come _on_ , you commie fuck,” the insult morphed into a long whine as Tom reached his peak a second time, and the ongoing fuck would start becoming painful.

Soaked in sweat, drool, tears, and his own cum, Tom would muster up his last attempts at ending it by pulling Tord down by the neck and capturing his mouth in a sloppy kiss. It was messy, and wet, and frankly disgusting, but it turned Tord on so much his elbows started losing strength.  
Before the fear of crashing down onto his partner caught up to him, Tord pulled away from the kiss and Tom would whisper after a moment of panting,

“I lo—“

A loud, horrified gasp echoed around the room as Tord curled in on himself before he violently jerked and tensed, absolutely messing up the sheets over his crotch with his own climax. Tord laid staring wide-eyed at his shared ceiling as he breathed heavily to catch his breath.

His mind was blank as he refused to analyse what’d just happened, before finally fatigue would catch up to him and his eyes slid closed and he let out a long sigh that sounded strangely tired.

He didn’t let the shame of wanking over someone he was supposed to hate and was coincidentally just sleeping across from him catch up to him, and he quickly wiped his hands and sheets clean before trying to get some sleep finally.

As he slowly drifted into the dark abyss of slumber, Tord managed to catch one word, whispered in the otherwise silent room.

“Gross.”

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me @ my instagram, I'm always there (@flugfbop)  
> or my Tumblr that I barely even visit nowadays (flugfbop.tumblr.com)  
> so we can  
> chill. u kno.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
